"We handled it," Brooke said. Her words blurred at the edges. "We talked to her. The school said that there was no proof. What were we supposed to do? Ruin her whole life over one stupid mistake?"
Whitney seized on that. "Exactly. We can't just take Leah's word as gospel. She was clearly troubled. She misinterpreted things. Twisted them."
"We are all grieving," Rowan cut in, her voice soft, empathetic. She moved closer to Vivienne. "Accusations won't help anyone. Perhaps we should speak privately, Viv."
Vivienne let out a bitter laugh. "So you can spin this? So you can protect your daughters like you always do?"
Brooke flinched. "That's not fair. Teen girls are dramatic. They fight and make up. It's messy. You can't blame us for every little thing they do."
"Cutting someone's hair off isn't a little thing," Vivienne snapped.
Whitney crossed her arms, chin lifting. "Do we even know if this diary is authentic? Anyone could have written this after the fact."
Vivienne's eyes sparked with outrage. "You think I forged my dead daughter's diary? Peyton's all over this diary, Whitney."
She snatched a page from the pile and thrust it toward us. "January 24. 'Peyton whispered it in the locker room when no one else could hear. You should suicide yourself. No one would miss you. You're so ugly and fat, I can't stand having to look at you every day.'"
Whitney blanched. Her hand went to her throat. "No. That's… Peyton would never say that."
"Your daughter is a monster," Vivienne saidflatly.
"How dare you insinuate such a thing!"
"How dare I? Your daughters tormented mine for months. They smiled in her face and destroyed her behind her back."
Rowan picked up a page, glanced at it, and set it down. Her jaw ticked. "This is a child's diary. We don't know what was going on in Leah's head when she wrote any of this."
With a trembling hand, I grabbed the page Rowan had just discarded. "February 17. Swim team incident."
Rowan shot me a warning look. I ignored it.
"'Someone took my suit and hung it from the ceiling. They poured red dye or animal blood on the crotch to make it look like I'd started my period. When I got upset, Chloe said it was a joke. Peyton said I was being extra. Alexis recorded the whole thing. Zara just laughed. Mia looked away.'"
The words lodged in my throat. I couldn't breathe.Mia looked away.My daughter— quiet, sensitive Mia—had watched her best friend be publicly humiliated and said nothing.
When had that been? February, right after Valentine's Day. I tried to remember. Had she seemed different? Acted guilty or ashamed? I couldn't recall. I'd been working on a deadline. I'd missed everything.
"Leah had problems before any of this," Whitney said. "Everyone knew she struggled. She lied about things, Vivienne. She always wanted attention. Peyton told me all about her hysterics."
"She was scared," Vivienne shot back. "Because your daughters were tormenting her."
"Girls go too far trying to be funny," Whitney said. "It doesn't mean anything serious."
Their voices layered over each other, building a wall of rationalization. I watched them close ranks. Whitney shifted closer to Rowan's shoulder. Brooke straightened despite the alcohol. Even Camille took a half-step from the window.
"Stop!" I said. "Just stop it!"
The room stilled. There wasn't enough oxygen in the room.
"We failed them. All of them. We were so busy that we didn't see what was happening."
Brooke's voice rose. "That's not fair."
Tears tracked down Vivienne's face. "You all knew something was wrong. And you did nothing."
The unified front wavered. Brooke's gaze dropped, like she couldn’t bear to see Vivienne’s incandescent grief a moment longer. Whitney's foot resumed its anxious tapping. Rowan's mouth flattened, in frustration or perhaps remorse.
"These are serious allegations," Camille said. "We're not taking this lightly, Vivienne. Please don't think that."
